


(And Now I'm Ready) To Feel Your Hand

by Rainne



Category: Captain America (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom/sub, Enthusiastic Consent, Femdom, Kink, Master/Pet, Multi, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Puppy Play, Safe Sane and Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 01:54:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3510833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainne/pseuds/Rainne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy's puppies are in <i>so much trouble.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	(And Now I'm Ready) To Feel Your Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suzukiblu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzukiblu/gifts).



> I'd like to thank [amusewithaview](http://archiveofourown.org/users/amusewithaview/profile) for her encouragement and quick beta. 
> 
> I'd like to blame [suzukiblu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/suzukiblu/profile) for the fact that this even exists in the first place. I'd further like to note that she made art to go with it: [Click Here](http://suzukiblu.tumblr.com/post/113143343798/well-bluandorange-posted-this-while-rainne-was)
> 
> Title from the Stooges song "I Wanna Be Your Dog".

The puppies are in trouble.

The puppies are in a great deal of trouble.

The puppies are in _so much_ trouble, in fact, that when Darcy opens the door of her Brooklyn brownstone, they are nowhere to be found - and that's extremely unusual, because her pups are usually at the door waiting for her when she gets home.  And that, of course, is her first sign that the puppies are in trouble.

She takes her shoes and jacket off at the door, leaving them in the coat closet, and drops her keys in the bowl on the table beside the door.  She does not call the puppies.

She looks around the living room; everything seems to be in order, so she crosses the room and proceeds into the kitchen.  She pushes through the saloon-style swinging doors and stands there, looking around at the mess.  "Uh- _huh,_ " she mutters softly.  "Half an hour.  I'm gone half an hour and this is the shit you two pull."

It is apparent that the puppies got into a wrestling match while she was gone, because the kitchen table has been shoved hard against the wall, the chairs all displaced.  This would not be a big deal, honestly, if it weren't for the fact that there had been a ten pound bag of sugar and a three pound bag of coffee on the table when it was shoved hard against the wall.  Both of these items exploded upon contact with the kitchen floor, leaving behind a huge mess and likely resulting in two terrific explosions.

That worries Darcy - her little black pup is a rescue from an abusive home, and he reacts badly to being startled and even worse to loud noises.  She needs to make sure he's all right.

The basement door is locked, so she doesn't have to worry about him being down there; with this in mind, she starts up the stairs, calling for both of the pups in a soft, gentle voice that won't startle the little black one if he's in a bad place.

There is no sign of either pup on the second floor, so she heads up to the third.  At the top of the stairs, she stops and looks around the master bedroom.  Nothing is out of place; everything is as it should be.  Except that the door of the walk-in closet is a little bit ajar.  She strides over and pulls the door open.  There, behind her winter jeans and rain boots, she spies the little yellow pup.  "There you are!" she exclaims.  "Come out of there!  You know you don't belong in this closet."

The yellow pup whines just a bit, and she snaps her fingers, pointing at the floor outside the closet.  "Steve, come!"

He whines again but he comes, his head low and his tail dragging, and once he's out of the closet, she shuts the door firmly.  Then she crouches down, tucking her hand under his chin and pulling his face up to look at hers.  He looks so sad that she can't help but chuckle at him and rub his head.  "You goofy dog," she says, affection thick in her voice, and she kisses his nose.  "Where's your buddy, huh?"

Thus assured that he isn't in too much trouble, he casts his gaze toward the bed.  Darcy turns, pulling up the dust ruffle, and looks underneath.  "Hey, you," she greets the little black pup.  "You okay?"

He whines softly, and she makes a gentle clicking noise with her tongue.  "C'mere, Buck," she says.  "It's okay.  I'm not mad."

He scrabbles forward, just a little bit, and she makes encouraging noises until he comes close enough to touch.  Then she reaches in - slowly, to keep from scaring him - and runs her fingers across the top of his head.  He arches into her touch and she scritches at his scalp for a minute, then draws back.  "Come on out of there," she says.  "I can't reach you."

She scoots backward and drops onto her butt, putting her back against the closet door, and she pats her lap; a moment later, she has two puppies in her lap and whatever she might call them in her head, neither one of them is actually very _little._   "Whoa, guys!" she exclaims, laughing as they both try to lick and nuzzle her face and jockey for position against her.  "Settle down!"

Eventually they do; both of them end up curled up on either side of her, their heads in her lap, and she strokes them slowly, scratching and rubbing heads, necks, and backs.  Finally, Steve rolls over, stretching, and pants up at her hopefully.  She chuckles.  "You want your belly rubbed, huh?" she asks, suiting action to words. 

Not to be outdone, Bucky rolls over as well, and when she finds the sensitive spot on the side of his ribs, he kicks out with his leg, making her laugh and do it again.  They stay just like that on the floor until it is well and truly dark outside, and then Darcy says, "Okay.  Who wants to go walkies?"

Both of them roll off her and bound toward the stairs, jostling and shoving at one another.  A sharp "Hey!" from her stops them both in their tracks, though, and she points a finger at them.  "Sit!"

Both pups immediately go down on their haunches, hanging their heads.  Darcy stands.  "You two have clearly forgotten how to behave in the house."  She opens the closet door and reaches up, pulling two leashes down off the hook inside the door.  She walks over to them and snaps one leash onto the ring in Bucky's collar, the other leash onto the ring in Steve's.  She wraps the leashes around her hands to shorten the lengths, and then gives each one a sharp tug.  "Up."  Both pups rise up onto their hands and knees, and Darcy says, "Come."   

Navigating down the stairs is a slow process; getting in too big a hurry has resulted, more than once, in a sore puppy whimpering at the bottom of a flight of stairs, so Darcy controls them carefully as they make their way down.  She crosses the living room with a pup on either side of her, but when she starts to pass through the kitchen door, Bucky sits down and refuses to move.

Darcy sighs, putting her hands on her hips for a moment in frustration before saying, "You want a cookie, Bucky?  You can have a cookie if you come with me." 

He whines and starts to rise, but the moment she leads him toward the kitchen again, he sits back down.  Darcy sighs.  "Fine," she says.  "If you won't come on your own, I'll have to pick you up and carry you."

He whines again, his expression desperately unhappy, and refuses to even look in the direction of the kitchen.  She knows exactly why: the mess had upset him, and he is afraid of being punished.  But he has to follow commands.  She points at Steve.  "Sit."  Steve sits, and Darcy drapes his leash over his shoulder.  Then she walks over to Bucky and pats her stomach.  "Up."

Bucky rises up on his back legs, obediently putting his paws on her waist.  She wraps her hands around his ribcage, just as if she was lifting an actual puppy, and pulls.  He comes, rising to his feet and sort of draping himself over her shoulder.  She chuckles and pats his back, then walks back over to Steve, carefully guiding Bucky's steps.  She picks up the leash from Steve's shoulder and gives it a quick tug.  "Come."

Steve comes, and stays right by her side as she guides Bucky carefully through the kitchen, his face buried in her neck so that he doesn't have to look at the mess.  Once they are through the door onto the landing of the basement stairs, though, she rubs at the back of his neck and says softly, "I can't carry you down the steps; we'll both fall."

He whines a little in protest, but they reverse the motions that got him over her shoulder and within a moment, he's on the floor again.  She lets them off their leashes then and says, "Go play." 

She stays on the landing and watches them navigate carefully down the steps and into the wide, finished room.  She smiles at the sight; it's absolutely been worth every minute of pre-planning to get everything ready.  It might have been a job of work, but the whole place looks like a terrific dog run. There's fencing sketched on the walls and green indoor/outdoor carpeting to simulate grass; there's toys to play with and a set of comfy beds to laze on; there's even a bubbling water fountain in the corner by the lawn chaise that they can drink from.

And there are two big, clumsy puppies romping now in the middle of everything.  Steve's hands are covered in golden furry mitts that almost exactly match his hair, as does the little stubby tail on the end of the plug in his ass.  Bucky, on the other hand, is wearing black furry mitts, and has a long tail that (with the help of a little bit of wire) curls up over his back.  She watches them play, crashing into each other as they chase tennis balls, and she laughs softly.  They both carry so much weight when they're out in the world; it's nice to watch them put all that aside and just _play._  

She finally makes her own way down the steps, and Bucky barks, running up to her with a plush toy in his mouth.  She makes to take it away from him and they play tug-of-war for a minute before he lets it go and she tosses it for him to chase.  Then Steve comes bounding up with a rubber ball in his teeth that he drops at her feet.  She throws this as well.  The next several minutes are taken up with the game of fetch, until finally Bucky, after retrieving his toy, carries it over to the water fountain instead of bringing it to Darcy.  He drops it onto the floor and laps at the cool, clean water in the bubbler.

Steve trots up next to him and does the same, and Darcy sits down on the chaise to watch them, smiling slightly, waiting to see what they'll do next.  Snooze in the artificial sunlight?  Wrestle in the grass?  They might do anything.  And that, of course, is the whole point of this exercise.  They can do whatever they like, within the bounds of puppy-hood, and not have to worry about anything, because Darcy is there and Darcy will take care of everything.

But it turns out that what they want is something different.  After drinking his fill of water and sitting around panting until he gets his breath back, Bucky turns to her, first resting his chin on her knee and then nosing his way up her thigh.  He catches the hem of her shorts delicately between his teeth and tugs, and Darcy laughs softly.  "Oh," she says, grinning down at him.  "What's that, boy?  You want a treat?"

He whines at her pleadingly, and Steve joins in, nosing at her other thigh and demanding a treat as well.  She pretends to consider the matter for a long moment.  "I don't know," she says slowly, tapping her finger against her chin.  "You boys _did_ make an awful mess in the kitchen."

She _really_ doesn't want to use the phrase _puppy-dog eyes_ right now, but there's really nothing else to call it, and she laughs again, reaching down and grabbing the hem of her t-shirt.  "Oh, _all right,_ " she says, and pulls it off over her head.

Steve yips in excitement and Bucky does a tiny puppy-dance as Darcy removes her bra, then stands up and slowly shimmies her shorts and panties down off her legs.  She leaves her clothing in a pile on the chaise and walks to the center of the room, then sits down on the floor and spreads her legs wide apart.  She points a finger at Bucky, a slow shiver of arousal twining its way up her spine.  "Sit. Stay."

With a soft whine, he obeys, and Darcy crooks a finger at Steve.  "Steve, come."

He doesn't have to be told twice; he's on her in a heartbeat, burying his face between her thighs.  There's no technique to what he's doing, no finesse; he just fastens his mouth against her cunt and _licks,_ sucking and slurping and nipping and making soft, delicious sounds of pleasure and hunger.

Darcy moans, falling backward on the carpet, her back arching and her hips rolling in pleasure.  " _Yes,_ " she hisses.  "Yes, _yes_ Steve, yes, _fuck_ yes!"

He whines against her skin and she gasps, jerking in surprise.  He doesn't stop, though; his mouth is fucking _relentless_ as he works her over, sucking her clit and nipping at her folds and tongue-fucking her hole until she arches underneath him, crying out and coming hard.

He doesn't stop, though, the way he usually does; he's a dog today, and when he's a puppy he's a greedy little shit, so he doesn't back down; instead, he flings his upper body across her legs to hold her still and redoubles his efforts, burrowing against her like he's trying to climb inside face-first.  Her fingers claw at the carpet and she comes again, her body twisting, writhing, instinctively trying to pull away from the excess of stimulation.  He doesn't let her, but she gathers herself enough to reach down and push his head away, drawing back from him and pulling her legs together to cut off his access.

He whines, lurching toward her cunt again, and she laughs, pushing him back and petting his head, scritching his scalp gently.  "Good boy, Stevie," she murmurs.  "You're a good boy.  Good boy.  Give me a minute, though, okay, baby?  It's Bucky's turn now."  She removes one of his paw-gloves and points across the room at a cabinet that hangs on the wall by the washing machine.  "Go get ready."

For the first time since she collared him earlier in the day, Steve rises to his feet.  He crosses the room, stepping over the little bit of wooden fence that marks off the edge of their play space, and opens the cabinet, retrieving the bottle of lube and bringing it back.  He squirts a good amount into his hand and slicks up his cock with it while she watches, then goes back to his knees and sets the bottle aside in case it's needed.

From across the room, Bucky gives a soft whine, and Darcy laughs softly, turning to look at him.  He's still where she told him to stay, but his body is straining toward her, his cock hard and dripping from watching them at play.  "Aww, baby," she says.  "You're such a good boy, sitting and waiting so nicely.  Are you ready?"  When he whines again, she opens her arms and says, "Come here, baby."

He bounds toward her and she catches him, cuddling him close and stroking his hair and his face, peppering his skin with little kisses.  "There," she croons.  "There you go.  Such a good boy.  Such a patient boy.  I've got a special treat for my good boy."

Bucky looks up into her eyes and whines pleadingly, nuzzling against the corner of her jaw, and she laughs, kissing his mouth warmly.  "Good boy," she says again.  "Sit back."  He obeys, and she rolls over onto her hands and knees, grinning at him.  "I'm going to have _the worst_ rug burn when we're done," she says to nobody in particular, and then she reaches out a hand to Bucky.  "C'mere, boy," she tells him, guiding him toward her.  She pats her hip.  "Mount."

She doesn't have to tell him twice; he's on her like... well, like a stud on his bitch, and she gets strangled up trying to laugh and groan at the same time as he pushes into her.  She reaches up and catches the back of his head as he looms over her, trying to hold him still.  "Wait," she gasps.  "Wait, Bucky, hold."

He obeys, even though she can feel the trembling in his muscles that the restraint causes; she doesn't drag it out.  She looks over at the other puppy, who's watching them desperately, his own cock just as hard and dripping as the first.  She smiles.  "Steve," she says.  "Mount."

Steve scrambles to take his place behind Bucky, and Bucky gives a soft gasp, his body shuddering as Steve carefully removes the tail-plug.  From the corner of her eye, Darcy can see it hit the carpeting, and then Bucky groans, soft and low, as Steve mounts him, spearing deep and splitting him wide open.  His breath goes harsh, little whines at the end of each exhale, and Darcy plants both her hands against the carpet, bowing her head and bracing herself for what's about to happen.

"Okay," she says to both of them: it's the signal that lets them off the metaphorical leash.  Steve thrusts immediately, pushing deeper into Bucky and pushing Bucky deeper into Darcy.  Bucky groans and Darcy gasps, and then she shoves back with her own hips.  This time, Bucky gasps, and Steve whines, and then they begin to move, the three of them, working out a rhythm of push and pull that's punctuated by Steve's growls, Bucky's barks and whines, and Darcy's verbal encouragement of both of them. 

She tells them how good they are, how sweet, how perfect; she tells them how good they feel, how much she loves her sweet puppies and how much she loves taking care of them; and then Bucky changes the angle of his thrusts and she doesn't say anything except "Yes, yes, _yes!_ " and she's coming, hard, underneath them.  Bucky howls, spilling inside her, and just a few strokes later, Steve buries his teeth in the side of Bucky's neck and growls as he empties himself as well.

There's a long moment of absolute stillness, and then they collapse into a heap in the middle of the floor.  After a few moments of sweaty, cuddly quiet, Steve whimpers just a little bit, pawing at her with his still-gloved hand.  Darcy chuckles.  "Want this off?"  When he nods, she complies, unbuckling the wrist strap and sliding it off.  "You can do the tail yourself," she tells him.  "I don't have the energy to sit up right now."

"That's okay," he murmurs, his voice a little rough from disuse.  "I got it."

A heavy metal arm flops over Darcy's waist and a black furry paw wiggles at her.  "Aww," she says, reaching for the buckle.  "You, too?  Nobody wants to stay puppy longer?"

"You know me," Bucky replies, even though technically he still has one paw on and isn't supposed to be speaking yet.  "I like to stand up in the shower."

"Point," Darcy concedes, recalling a discussion they had weeks ago, when Steve first broached the idea of this kind of play, and the lines she has to be very careful not to cross in order to avoid triggering a flashback to a time when Bucky was treated like a dog under much less pleasant circumstances.  She rolls over to face him and takes the second glove off, then reaches up for the collar, hooking her finger in one of the rings.  "This off, too?"

"Nah," he says, his cheeks going a little pink.  "That can... that can stay for awhile."

She smiles.  He's not _quite_ ready to be done.  That's okay by her.  She leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to the bridge of his nose.  "Well, then," she says.  "Why don't we all head upstairs and get cleaned up?  You boys have one hell of a mess to clean up in the kitchen before we can start dinner." 


End file.
